A fiery friendship
by divinedaylight
Summary: Amidst the rubble and destruction from a violent attack at Stark Mountain burns a beautiful friendship. But does the connection between human and Pokémon have enough firepower to beat the world of evil?
1. Prologue: The Dream

The young boy glared at his own reflection and the world surrounding it. _Go on_ , his five-year-old fury encouraging him. _Punch it. Rip it up. Smash it to pieces. Then sit back and think about rainbows._

He was never really an extrovert. Come to think of it, he hardly was. He was the type of person who would take part in the party games and do nothing more. He was the type who would watch silently when the sky fell, without flapping his arms about like a crazed chicken or bursting onto the streets and screaming "Arceus help me". He wasn't a wallflower, though. That was clear. He had friends – just not many.

That wasn't what bothered him at the moment, though being alone had something to do with it. Being alone always did. Solitariness meant loneliness, exhaustion and confinement to intriguing but ultimately useless thoughts, like these.

Deciding then that he didn't want to waste another second of thought on this cruel, unfair planet, the boy launched himself into bed and willed himself into the world of dreams. That never worked, of course, but it was nice to think that someday – _someday_ – scientists would invent a machine that sent its user into a world of his/her choice. Until then, he could only bear with the relentless teasing of his stupid bullies. _Dream on_ , they would laugh. _Pun intended_.

This time, however, his wish seemed to have come true.

Upon descending upon the soft relief of sleep, the boy found himself being hurled downwards at breakneck speed – literally. He knew, though, that he would break more than just his neck if he'd ever touched the ground. Which, with a mixture of amazement, confusion and relief, he realised he'd already did. He was sprawled onto a carpet of lush green grass in what seemed to be an endless field of poppies. He quickly crawled to his knees and looked around, sighting a smoking volcano in the distance as the only thing besides plants. It looked like it was going to erupt soon, but that would be the least of his worries if he didn't start discovering the locations of food, drink and wherever the heck he was.

"Where am I?" The boy wondered aloud, a little fearfully. It was a completely unfamiliar place even after he searched his memories twice, and no one – or nothing – he knew was in his immediate surroundings. He was about to attempt memory-recovering for the third time when a large creature materialised in front of him, seemingly out of thin air.

More than twice his size, it looked to be clad from head to toe in tightly-fit, heat-worn steel, with spots the colour of forest fires. It stared at the boy coolly with large, orange eyes, as if trying to access his appearance and abilities in a glance. It said nothing whilst it did so, leaving a deafening silence that roared louder as the seconds ticked by. A competition, a meaningful one, quickly emerged as the two beings exchanged studying glares. The boy felt his own eyebrows furrowing in concentration, curiosity and an uncanny realisation that he was, eventually, going to win.

Sure enough, the creature looked away within just a few moments, seemingly satisfied with the knowledge it'd acquired. "Interesting," it muttered to itself. "You're someone who cares for the weak despite being very strong yourself. You're not unfamiliar with this power, but you don't utilise it much because your conscience tells you not to. You also stand up for the beliefs of those around you, accepting them as your own even if they don't click perfectly with your way of thinking. Furthermore, you…"

"You discovered all that about me?" The boy couldn't help interrupting as his jaw dropped in amazement. "Rather sounds like you won the battle," he chuckled, admitting defeat as he knew he deserved it. After all, all he'd taken in in that one minute was that the creature was large, clever and competitive – clearly observations on the surface, as compared to the creature's… detailed report on his personality.

The creature wasn't bothered by him, however, continuing its analysis as if the boy hadn't spoken. "…take life as a pill, swallowing its highs and lows with a gulp of forgetfulness. You, furthermore, pay attention to things that have little relevance to you, believing that their importance would come soon enough. A silly thing to do, of course, considering how little this pays off. Worse is your habit of building towers out of cards, naming each one after an abstract concept and enjoying the satisfaction of knocking them over all at once. How stupid."

The boy stared in shock. "But… that's just my opinion of things. I –"

"…you're dumb enough to believe that all teachers hate each other, rejecting the current state of the world as if it were a spoilt present from your great uncle. And what were you thinking, overturning that saucer of milk in your rampage against cats? There are things worse in the world than paw prints the size of your ego!"

"Stop it!" yelled the boy, covering his hands over his ears. "You can make fun of me, but I don't care. Sometimes things are out of order, and I want to fix them. Other times my imagination runs wild. Maybe that's the way it is!" He threw his hands up in exaggeration, barely noticing that the creature had stopped talking and was clinging on to every word he said. "Maybe that's how I'll grow up to be. But I don't care. I just wish I had a little more… attention. Because I know that if I felt like it I could be as good as everyone else, if I wanted to. It isn't my fault that I am such an outcast, cast aside like a broken doll every time the world gets sick of me."

"And do you really think you are one?" The creature asked quietly, finally turning back around to fix the boy with a gaze that communicated nothing but respect.

It was the boy, this time, who was lost in his own thoughts. He thought about the experiences he'd had in the corridor. He thought about the experiences he'd had in his room. And he knew his answer, though it was not a pleasant one. "Yes," he replied, staring at the ground sadly. "I wish I could say no, but I'd be lying then." He looked back at the creature and found only two kind eyes. It was not a competition then, he knew. It was a moment he would cherish for all his life. The creature seemed to reach the same conclusion, nodding its head subtly.

"You interest me," it mused, confirming the boy's assertions. "Yes. I've decided. The question is, have you?"

The boy hesitated. "I… I don't know. How can I…"

"Drake!" The creature barked. "Make your decision. There is no such thing as a tie."

Once again, the boy looked deep inside himself and found his answer. He nodded firmly.

"Good. I'll see you in the future."

With that, the creature vanished. And though he himself didn't notice it, so did Drake.


	2. Project Icebreak

It all started when a class project a week ago grouped the three classmates together.

"There's only one assignment this holiday," beamed Mrs April as each student scanned his/her task sheet curiously:

 **Field Work**

 _In groups of threes, make a trip to one of the following places and do a live commentary on the status of that area, which must include its (brief) history, weather, and Pokémon demographics._

 _1) Lake Valor_

 _2) Eterna Forest_

 _3) Stark Mountain_

 _4) Spring Path_

 _5) Mt. Coronet_

 _6) Floaroma Meadow_

 _Note:_

 _It is recommended that you do some research beforehand._

 _All members of the group must participate in the video in one way or another._

 _Be creative! Include any other information and/or scenes that you see fit._

 _The deadline for submission is 2 weeks from the issuing of this task sheet._

The class was soon abuzz with discussion. With all his neighbours caught up in their own conversation, Drake had no one to talk to and could only catch snippets of speech:

"…Meadow! I heard it's simply _gorgeous_!" shrilled a female voice. There followed a murmur of hushed but excited agreement.

"'It is recommended that you do some research beforehand,'" quoted a loud male voice in a sarcastic tone. "Well, duh."

"…thinking along the lines of position. Maybe we can shoot videos at the top. Would that be considered creative?"

"…can't wait to get started…"

"Quiet, please!" The class was brought back into order as Mrs April rapped sharply on her desk. "I've already divided you into threes, and I shall now call out the students of each group." Upon hearing this, all the students in the room sat up straighter, obviously eager to know whom they were to work with.

Drake liked Mrs April. Many students did. They all felt that she was a caring, clever, and passionate teacher who made her lessons interesting and worthwhile. But this was a bad situation nonetheless. Mrs April might as well have been a stranger; so clueless was she about the class that her groupings would surely be disastrous, even if she meant well. How could she know the class well? It was only mid-February. The day was still young.

And so it was little surprise to Drake when his buddies were people he had never had a formal meeting with before.

Drake knew both of their names, of course, but besides that he knew little about their personalities. Amber seemed the upbeat teenager, excited at the prospect of everything and never afraid to defend her friends. Byron, on the other hand, was more reserved, keeping his thoughts and smiles to himself. Drake himself was somewhere in the middle. All in all, it didn't look like a very good team – the unceasing whispers of the class confirmed that. Awkwardly, Drake glanced over at his future team members. Amber didn't seem to notice how everyone was staring; in fact, she seemed to be enjoying it, her mouth subtly curving into a smile. Byron just looked plain grumpy. At long last, Mrs April moved on to the next group, easing away the attention of the other students.

"Alright, everyone!" Mrs April called. "I'll now give you the rest of my time to meet your new friends, and start discussing your project. You may be dismissed five minutes before class."

The class split up; Drake's team gathered at Byron's desk. Even before Amber had gotten herself comfortable, however, Byron dominated the conversation with his choice. "I pick Eterna Forest. Any objections?"

Amber was not offended, fortunately. She instead took the effort to smile at both of them, even giving a short introduction of herself. Drake returned the smile warmly as he too spoke briefly about his character. Byron rolled his eyes, and waved his hand about impatiently. "Yeah, yeah. So? What do you say?"

Drake had actually made his decision a while back. Eterna Forest, the desired destination of Byron, was actually what Drake didn't want as it seemed the least appealing. Lake Valor, Spring Path and Floaroma Meadow could offer majestic sights, sounds and smells, but they weren't much better, really. So there left two options. It had been a pretty tough choice to pick between Mt. Coronet and Stark Mountain, since both were, after all, the coolest (hottest?) fire-spewing mountains to ever exist in Sinnoh, at least in his opinion. He should know – he'd visited tons of volcanoes before, and none were quite like these two. Getting to hunt for bits of knowledge to his heart's content was almost too exciting to think about, and he was _almost_ disappointed that the project only involved one location. In the end he narrowed it down to the criteria of experience. Mt. Coronet was more popular, and more known. Little research had to be done there as it was less of a mystery. Stark Mountain it was.

While Amber told Byron of her choice, Drake couldn't help but recount the last time he'd visited Stark Mountain. It was a beautiful memory, captivating him completely.

"Drake?" prompted Byron.

"Well, I'm fine with anything. But…"

"But?" Byron and Amber said at the same time.

Drake smiled wistfully, his eyes glazed over.


	3. Stark Mountain

The next day, they were off. Well, Amber and Drake were. Byron lagged behind so often that the pair often had to wait for him when they came across an intersection.

"What happened to all the energy?" snapped Amber irritably.

"I didn't sleep very well… last night," came a miserable mumble. Byron did look very tired. So they left him to rest in the shades, agreeing to give him a part in the video later.

Drake didn't mind. He was smiling to himself, in fact, thinking about the events of the previous day. Honestly, he had doubted that anyone would be uninterested in the adventures he'd taken part in with his family. Even Byron's mouth had dropped open in awe. There was no question as to where the team was heading to now.

As Stark Mountain came slowly into view, the pair soaked up the amazing scenery in silence. Drake remembered reading the previous night that a volcano's surroundings are usually covered in fertile plant growth due to the rich nutrients supplied by the earthy minerals, but this was something else altogether. Even on his second trip, he found it breathtaking. And Amber clearly thought so too, zooming around from place to place with her camera much like a bee wanting to sample the pollen of all the flowers at once. He slowly shut his eyes and let the wind wash over him…

Amber interrupted his thoughts with a question. "Hey, what's that?"

Drake opened his eyes to find that whatever Amber had been pointing to had gone. "What was it?"

"I don't know. Maybe some sort of Pokémon? It could move, after all."

They moved along, forgetting the incident completely when they stepped into the cave. Much like its exterior, the interior left them utterly stunned by the beauty of it all. Each carving, each stalactite and each pattern had a certain element of mysticism to it, such that visiting new rooms was like entering a museum, or a dream. Drake kicked himself for having been too tired the previous day to read about the inscriptions on the walls as those would surely have helped him make sense of his surroundings, and appreciate the mountain's intricate art form.

By an amazing stroke of luck, however, Amber had read them, and was glad to quote from her memory. "'Pokémon professors have experimented on recovered fossils studded within the walls of the cave and conjectured that the wall-writing occurs during the same time period, which was about 3000 years ago. What the writing symbolises is not known. Speculations suggest that they are an ancient form of Unown language about the volcano's history, while scientists believe it describes the volcano god, Heatran, though nothing has been confirmed so far.'"

Drake was impressed. "Wow, thanks. Did you memorise all that?"

"It's not that much," laughed Amber. She turned towards the end of the corridor, which had split into three paths, depending on which entrance one picked. "Shall we split up? We can cover more ground and get more information."

Drake nodded. "I'll meet you outside in an hour, and we'll do our commentary there."

With that, the two friends went off in their separate directions.

* * *

Drake stepped through the center chamber. He found nothing spectacular – that is, nothing particularly different from the entrance chamber. It was still a sight to behold.

The same could be said for the next few chambers that followed. Drake's excitement was beginning to diminish a little and he couldn't help wondering if there would be anything new, especially since it was just chamber after chamber after chamber after…

And then the earth started shaking.

It was a gentle rumble at first, almost as if the mountain was releasing a soft, albeit long, burp. Drake, in fact, barely noticed, instead attributing it briefly to the natural movements of the earth as he continued down the corridor. But as they became more violent, he found it hard to keep walking, and for that matter, keep his balance. And the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, wincing. His thighs hurt.

His head was still intact, though, and right away he could see clearly that some sort of an earthquake was happening. He tried to remember what he should do in one, but immediately had to abandon his attempt in a mad frenzy as rocks began to crash onto the ground, missing him by mere inches.

The earthquake was picking up pace.

Drake quickly whipped around in the opposite direction, wanting to make a hasty retreat. But the doorway was already blocked by an enormous rock. There was no time to sulk – or, more likely, scream – over it, though, because more rocks were tumbling. There was only one way to go, and that was to proceed in the direction he had come. And quickly.

That was how he stumbled upon the chamber.

Perfectly polished, mirror-smooth rock lined every inch of the room, so shiny that he could have sworn he saw ripples dancing on its surface. The ceiling too: it was much taller than usual, allowing for an extremely spacious, airy environment where his lungs were luxuriously treated. And then there was the ground, pickled with seamlessly crafted rocks of the highest quality in what seemed to be an elaborate pattern. Even the background noises, not to mention the possibility of him being trapped in there forever, could snap him out of his reverie. All he could think was, _wow_. If the chamber could take his breath away, he would surely have suffocated by now.

But then he froze.

Right where the rocks cleared to form a large space stood the one and only Heatran. Drake had read about it in books, seen about it in documentaries, and heard its name being mentioned by Amber just a few minutes ago, but nothing had quite prepared him for what he saw then. The volcano god, its large body red-hot with radiated fury, looked nothing like how he was depicted. It was glaring at him with a ferocity that he could only describe as all-consuming, with eyes that only seemed to expand with anger all the while, boring straight into his soul like a light beam piercing through darkness and making him flinch uncontrollably. Quickly deciding that death by crushing rocks was better than death by hellish wrath, Drake sank to the ground in a deep bow, silently trembling with fear. It was then that he saw the great platinum shackles around Heatran's claws, surrounded solely by enormous sores that told of brutal, brutal pain.

Loving Pokémon had been so natural to him that it didn't even feel like a decision. No, not when Drake rushed over in an instant to the mortally wounded Pokémon, his fears dissipating like the wind to be replaced by hardened purposefulness and sincerest empathy. Not when he tried to tell it mentally that he meant no harm, and that he only wanted to help, unaware of the softening gaze of the grateful Pokémon. And certainly not when, having succeeded in removing the shackles through brute force – it seemed as though Heatran's heat had worn them out and made them soft – and sensing that time was running out, he let a Pokéball make gentle contact with it. Time was still for a second.

And then the Pokéball clicked.

"We have to go, hurry!" Amber's desperate voice rang as she stumbled into the room, urging her friend in the direction of the exit in a panicked shove. Drake hardly had time to react to Amber's sudden appearance before he was ushered away, though his hands did close around something round. He could only hope that it was not a Pokéball-wannabe rock.


	4. Friendship

With Drake's arm in tow, Amber burst out of the cave like a high-speed missile fired from a rocket launcher. To Drake, who was struggling very much to keep up, it seemed like she was running on and on and on, paranoid that they would be in the radius of the volcano's eruption. Amber did however know where they were going, manoeuvring her way expertly through the tall hedges to minimise their wild Pokémon encounters – which, fortunately, amounted to zero. By the time they finally reached, though, Drake was wobbling back and forth, ready to faint. "Whoa, easy there," Amber steadied him. "Catch your breath for a moment, buddy." Drake gave her a thumbs up, and tried to re-orientate himself.

They were in a small town unfamiliar to him. Since they had run here in about a few minutes, it meant that Stark Mountain was within walking distance. But looking around, Drake could not see it anywhere. Perhaps the buildings were blocking his view. There was one which was especially tall, seeming to reach into the skies like a giraffe tasting cloud.

"This is Fight Area," Amber gestured briefly around at their surroundings. "Byron will be here shortly, and explain everything."

"Okay," agreed Drake uncertainly. Then he suddenly remembered the Pokéball in his hand. Almost instantaneously, fear and guilt shot through him like a lightning bolt, catching his throat like a claw. "Oh no! I… gotta get this to the Pokémon centre right away!" Without waiting for a response, he was off, hoping fervently with all his thump-thump-thump heart that it was not too late.

 _Faster, come on!_

He almost collided with an old lady, who sharply criticised him, and narrowly missed a skateboarding teenager. He did unfortunately crash full-force onto a middle-aged man, and could only bear his loud-mouthed insults as he sprinted away. His patience, however, was stretched to its limit when he realised that the Pokémon centre had an Arbok-long queue, along with a failing air-conditioner. Finally he could no longer take waiting as a solution. He took a deep breath and coughed to get everyone's attention.

"Please," he announced, "My… my Pokémon is in dire need of assistance. It has been… abused, I believe, and I fear that it may, well, die… soon…"

"Can it," snapped the gruff Nurse Joy at the counter. "Been hearing 'em pity stories all night and I swear I'm going to need a nice healing myself if I hear 'nother one. Speaking of which, just WHEN will someone fix this infernal machine?!"

Drake became desperate. _What can I do… just what can I do?_ He could make a quick trip to the Pokémart and beg for a treatment, but after seeing such a rude Nurse Joy, he doubted the shop owner would be much better. Or he could try to apply the basic healing techniques on Heatran. Almost immediately he shook his head. Who was he kidding? Caring for Pokémon had never been his thing. Maybe he was looking at this the wrong way. Maybe…

His thoughts were interrupted by a small tug on his hand, and turning slightly, Drake found an outstretched palm, upon which rested – Arceus behold – a shining bottle. The young girl – she could not have been more than five – pushed it towards him gently, her divine gaze never leaving his. "Use it," she whispered. "Hurry." Much too grateful for words, Drake blinked back tears and accepted the expensive medicine, thanking the girl with all his heart. She was right, though: he had no time to waste. The wounds Heatran had suffered had been traumatic to glance at up close, and were not doubt getting infected… he quickly shook away the thought and let the Pokémon out, thinking it better to do so in the centre rather than in the open despite the former already having quite a large crowd.

"Come on out, Heatran!"

Shocked gasps echoed all around, followed by unearthly silence. Drake ignored it, carefully applying the medicine as he had learnt and watching, with great satisfaction, that Heatran's expression was going from contorted to relieved and finally to soothed. His concern for the Pokémon had not diminished, however. After all, whoever had done what he/she did had gotten off scot-free, and letting that go would be unforgivable on his part. Just thinking about the injustice and pain Heatran must have suffered was enough to make him clench his fist and gaze into the distance, plotting some form of detailed investigation and of course, much deserved revenge. All this while Heatran quietly studied the boy with one stony eye.

When Drake came back to the present, he'd pretty much decided what he would do: call up Officer Jenny and assist her from there with the easily described information (maybe it was a good thing that Heatran's wounds had burned such an image into his mind, after all). But first would come the more difficult act of releasing Heatran back into the wild. Now that it had been healed, he thought that it'd be better off roaming around freely rather than trapped inside a metal case, void of anything but loneliness. Besides, there were more people than he thought in that Pokémon centre. He _really_ did not want to become famous or just popular simply because he owned a Legendary, especially since he didn't in fact own any Pokémon besides his ever-trusty Lucario, meaning that he was hardly a trainer and would be sorely unworthy of Heatran's power.

And thus, returning Heatran back into the Pokéball, Drake turned his back on the still-silent crowd and sauntered towards the nearest patch of tall grass he could find, which was within view and about thirty metres away. Then, steeling himself, he called out Heatran for perhaps the last time. It stared back at him coolly.

"Well, I guess this is it. I… have to go now. Thanks for not… uh, you know… blasting me to ashes back there. I hope you're able to make it back on your own, cause I… have to meet some friends soon." Drake felt slightly stupid saying that, since getting back to Amber and Byron was obviously not a priority. But who was he to feel ashamed? Heatran hadn't moved. Or, for that matter, understood any part of his speech. "Goodbye," he said as he turned to go. And thinking about Heatran's potential enemies, he added, "and good luck. I'll do what I can to help, I promise."

"…wait."

Drake paused. Did he imagine that?

 _Sound travels in all directions_ , his brain said. But his heart vehemently disagreed. _If so, why did it sound like it came RIGHT BEHIND YOU?!_

The prospect of Pokémon talking was almost too much to handle, but he knew it'd be even worse if he walked off and never knew for sure. He would never live with it.

And so he turned back around, eyes wide. Heatran briefly looked amused at the expression he wore. "Yes, I can speak in your tongue," it voiced in a gruff, unpolished tone. "I usually avoid doing so, but I'll have to make an exception this time, since I want to thank you, truly, for coming to me and taking much care to heal me back to a healthy state."

Drake couldn't respond. He was concentrating too much on pinching himself and trying to call on his upper self to wake up.

Heatran huffed a slow, unruffled sigh. "Look, I know this is hard for you to accept, but I have something to request of you, so will you please listen to me for one moment?"

Drake finally snapped out of it, only to enter the next phase. _Holy Arceus, I'm actually talking to the volcano god! Can you believe it? Heatran himself! Oh my gosh ohmygosh ohmygosh…_

"I want you to keep me as your Pokémon."

Drake stopped everything.

Heatran smiled. "Why, you ask? Or maybe that's not what you ask. I shall explain anyway. It's very simple. Believe it or not, I've suffered from those crooks – Team Trouble I believe they call themselves – for almost three years now. They want only one thing: the Magma Stone. Incidentally, or should I say, stupidly, that is also the thing I happen to guard. They have tried everything to get it. And when I say everything, I mean everything. I shall not go into details describing their silly creations over the years, but this time they finally succeeded. A few Pokémon working on their side succeeded in paralysing me, which, as you might or might not know, is a serious hindrance in any battle. So clamping those rusty shackles on me was a piece of cake, and I could only watch, boiling with anger, as they swiped the Magma Stone and escaped. So then I was sitting there, helpless, waiting for my beloved home to erupt into space as I myself withered away. For the whole of January I felt my rage, not to mention the power of the volcano, getting stronger.

"Until you came along. Believe it or not, you were the first human who dared approach me in a whole month! As soon as I saw that glint in your eyes, I saw everything in you: bravery, generosity, wisdom. And like I said, you've proved yourself to be a good person indeed. So I extend my wish once again. I know what thought processes you went through at the Pokémon Centre, but…"

"Oh, you can read minds?" Shocked, Drake couldn't help interrupting.

"No, I just knew. The best kinds of people are always predictable," concluded Heatran kindly as it once again turned to face Drake. "So, what do you say?"

Drake, happy beyond measure in reality, nevertheless pretended to consider the dilemma like his life depended on it. "Hmm… I think I'll say… But then again, that has its advantages… Wait a minute, there's also that to consider…"

"Your smile gives you away, human," voiced Heatran in what sounded like a chortle. "Go and meet your important friends."


	5. Stunning Discoveries

"Hmm, I wonder what's taking him so long," muttered Amber as she dapped gently at her forehead with a piece of cloth. It was nearing noon and the temperature was soaring.

"Yeah, maybe we should just… begin first," Byron replied, his voice shaking a little.

"No, I think we should wait. I don't want to have to repeat your story to him later. I'm sure you don't either."

"No, I meant… I meant with the video. We could… um… do your part first… and, well… combine it… later…" Byron stuttered nervously, unable to help himself.

Amber, empathising, took his hand in hers. "Hey, don't think about what has happened, alright? You're fine now, and that's all that matters." She gave him a reassuring smile, which, after a moment of hesitation, was returned by Byron.

Amber was speaking of the events just a mere five minutes ago, after Drake had mysteriously run off in search of a Pokémon Centre. She had planned on killing time on her handphone, but before she had even gotten herself comfortable with leaning against the wall of the building, Byron had come out of the shadows like a fearful ghost seeking refuge, eyes wide with anticipation and looking rather sick to the stomach. "What's wrong? You look…" Amber had turned to him with quick concern, though she was interrupted sharply as Byron slapped a hand over her mouth, his eyes saying it all. _Don't talk. Please._ She barely had time to nod in comprehension before a team of about five adults burst out from where Byron had come, looking wildly around at the intersection as they clenched their fists, clearly infuriated that their target was escaping. But it wasn't their actions that really caught Amber's attention. It was their outfits. Not only were they fitted with a skeleton-like metal suit that appeared to pierce into their skin, but they were also equipped with what appeared to be deadly missile-launchers, shock-watches and brass knuckles, among others, made only worse by the uncanny realisation that these murderous weapons were within their easy grasp. Any sane person, honestly, would have been scared out of their mind by this point. It was their helmets, though, that really took the cake. Amber didn't want to think about where those hollowed-out skulls could have come from, and neither did she want to know. She didn't want to confirm her worst fears.

It was obvious that Byron had been pursued by these adults for a while, but why? She would have to question him later. _If_ they had a future. The odds of which didn't look too good, since, as might be imagined from how close Amber and Byron to the pursuers, the two friends were very nearly caught. They may have been camouflaged quite well under the building's massive shade, but it wasn't difficult for a well-trained eye to pick them up and certainly not impossible for this angry, determined mob. There was absolutely no telling what could happen. In fact, Amber could have sworn that she saw the gaze of one of the adults sweep over them in suspicious scrutiny, hovering there for what seemed like forever, though it was probably just a few minutes. Right when she considered throwing her arms up and begging for mercy, however, the tallest of the adults pointed in a direction away from them and the team took off at lightspeed, clearly trying not to waste time with second doubts. Within just a few seconds, the whole group had vanished without a trace. They were finally safe! They almost didn't believe that they had escaped. This reality – not to mention the relief – hit both of them like a sore face splashed with cold water, massaged to the pores with soothing lotions.

Now trying to erase the image from her mind, Amber took deep breaths to calm herself, swiping at her forehead which was now clammy with fear rather than heat. Byron, having the exact same idea, didn't even bother to mask his overwhelming gratitude at having been saved as he sent the full, eighteen-verse-long prayer of thanks to Arceus, which incited a mouthful of uncontrollable laughter from Amber. "Sorry," she managed in between giggles, "you just don't seem like the reverent type." Recovering back to his normal self already, Byron just rolled his eyes in good humour.

That was when Drake approached (at long last!), clutching something by his side. "Hey, I'm back. Sorry I took a while."

"'A while'? Are you kidding me? You took an eternity!" exclaimed Amber, melodramatically. "But no matter. Byron has something very important to tell you. Us, actually."

Byron nodded, then gestured to Drake's hand. "What's that? A Pokéball?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess I'll tell you about it after you're done? Since yours is more important."

"Alright," agreed Byron. "What I have to say is this…

"After you two left for Stark Mountain, I decided to walk towards it too, only at a much slower pace – I think I must have reached a full fifteen minutes after you did. The vegetation around the area was even better than Drake described, if I had to be honest. I'd never seen so much green in my life."

Amber couldn't resist interrupting. "Because you've been spending so much time at home?"

Byron ignored her. "So there I was, just admiring how beautiful all the plants looked together, when I spotted something out of place. No, it wasn't in my garden. It was in another one by the edge of the volcano, at a distance short enough for me to view. About thirty, forty metres? That sort of thing. What happened was that this group of five adults – I can't describe what they did exactly – stood together and recited some kind of spell for a ritual they were performing. At least, I thought it was a ritual. They had lit up some violet-black candles whose glaring light was what attracted my attention in the first place, and they were, you know, chanting words around it. It looked so sinister that by that point, all winks of sleep had been shaken from my eyes, and motivated by a mixture of fear and curiosity, I couldn't help but want to get closer and investigate further. So I took a few cautious steps towards the setup, hiding in the shadows as I went along. I could now pick up some very muffled words – their volume seemed to be decreasing as the spell proceeded. I had to get closer. Thinking this, I gently leapt forward into a bush that acted as a convenient spying place: I could see and hear them without fear of them doing the same… so long as I didn't make a sound. Well, unfortunately, that was the part I messed up. I… yes?"

Drake had raised his hand to get Byron's attention. "Hang on, you thought the group of adults was sinister just because they were singing around candles? Don't you think they might have been celebrating some festival?"

"Of course not. Sorry, I guess I wasn't detailed enough. They were wearing modern armour with tons of weapons, and believe it or not, _tribal heads_. Those looked like they could have been the bones of dinosaurs. You know, the sort of thing those ancient shamans wear. In fact, Amber saw them too. Right, Amber?" Byron looked over at the girl, who had looked away, a faraway expression in her eyes. "Amber, what's wrong?"

Tears had welled up in Amber's eyes as she was reminded once more of the gruesome scene she had tried so hard to forget, and she had unknowingly begun to sniff loudly, barely paying attention as she blindly accepted a pack of tissues Drake offered. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper, though it was filled to the brim with sadness and regret. "They were the heads… of wild Cubones."

Fear gripped the boys like an evil claw. "Holy… Are you certain?" Neither Byron nor Drake couldn't hide his shock.

"I… I can't believe I didn't notice," mumbled Byron. "But you're right."

"Y-yes," stuttered Amber, still broken down. "P-please don't t-talk about it again, o-okay?"

"Okay," promised Drake before Byron could say anything stupid. He walked around in a small circle, thinking aloud. "I can't believe it. Two instances of serious Pokémon abuse in one day! The world is sick."

"Two?" Both Amber and Byron looked quizzical, the former just a little more afraid.

"Yes, two," answered Drake grimly. "I was going to tell you about my experience at the volcano, which leads to… now hang on a minute. Do you think the two acts could have been… connected?"

At this, deathly silence greeted the three. Alas, there was no need for an answer.


	6. Lord Byron

On the path home, each student kept to him/herself as a gloomy rain cloud hovered over their thoughts. Amber was still traumatised by the mere mention of the Cubone heads, wanting dearly to fill her mind with foolish images like those of flowers but finding, painfully, that she couldn't. Byron looked alright on the outside, but on the inside his mind was whirling with dark activity. Drake, the only one of the trio who knew the second instance of abuse, was visibly more affected than the others, silently wrestling with the decision as to whether or not to tell his friends about it.

 _Telling them would inevitably involve Heatran_ , he realised. _If it were just a matter of simply showing him off, I'd be cool. But no, Heatran can understand and talk like humans. If Amber and Byron weren't angry, Heatran would be. And that would be frightening, especially for Amber. I should know._

Much to his surprise, it was Amber, in fact, who requested to know. "I just need something to stop thinking about all that blood and gore. I don't care if it's worse. Wait. Okay, so I do care if it's worse. Nevermind. Just tell me something anyway. Sugarcoat it if you have to."

"I'm sorry," mumbled Drake, whose decision had been made. "I shouldn't. It's probably worse."

Byron said nothing, but it was clear that he had no objections towards knowing what had happened.

Looking at Byron's subtly curious face, Amber was motivated to continue. "I can handle it, I think," her voice mellowed as she smiled slightly at Drake. "Thanks for being concerned."

"No, it's not just about that. I… I don't think Heatran will like it."

They stopped. "Did you just say Heatran?" Byron's mouth had dropped open slightly and he was staring at Drake like he was a statue made of gold.

Drake sighed. "Yes, Heatran. We became friends after I helped him out at the volcano." He cringed at the thought of them judging him for it, and looked around to find his friends' expressions strangely… kind and open-minded, as he feared they wouldn't be. At this he felt something like a mixture of surprise and hope bloom in his bosom as he, now encouraged, proceeded to tell them about his misadventure, deciding to include most details but leave out any vivid descriptions whatsoever. He described the trembling ground and how he had scrambled to take cover. He discussed Heatran's fury and how it'd numbed him into submission. And when it came to the part about the sores, he simply stated how they looked "bad", rather than (truthfully) saying that they were "the epitome of nightmares". He wouldn't admit it, but all in all it went better than expected, captivating both of them completely. He was pleased with their reactions; towards the end Amber looked impressed, while Byron just stared straight ahead, a slight smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

"So, here I am," Drake finished. "With two humans and a legendary as companions."

Byron literally flinched when he heard the word "legendary". He was quiet for the rest of the trip to Amber's house, where they dropped her off and continued down the road.

As soon as the boys were by themselves, Byron he turned to face Drake. "Do you have Heatran now?"

"Sure, why?"

Byron looked sheepish. "Sorry, I know this is really, really dumb, but… ever since I was a child, I've been wanting to talk to a legendary. It's just so silly, I know…"

Drake interrupted him. "No, it's fine. I'm sure Heatran would love to meet you." While he hoped that would reassure Byron, it seemed to have the opposite effect of making him more nervous. Oh well.

Within moments Heatran had taken shape on the sidewalk. It stared at Byron for a full five seconds, retaining nothing but a calculative, almost cold expression. Drake cleared his throat. "Uh, this is Byron, my friend." As the figure of Byron glinted off Heatran's unmoving eyes, Drake continued awkwardly. "He likes sleeping and, uh, writing poetry."

Byron glared daggers at Drake, and turned to Heatran. "Sorry about that. It's really nice to meet you." Heatran nodded but said nothing. It didn't even smile. Just stared and stared, with an almost – again, just barely – angered look in its eyes.

Drake felt fortunate indeed when Byron's house was within view. "Hey, look at that!" he jumped at the opportunity, hoping he didn't sound too enthusiastic. "We're reaching your home. I guess I better return Heatran. I don't really want to introduce him to all your neighbours, heh heh…"

"No problem. I'll catch you later, Drake." Byron turned and went, clearly offended. Drake could only watch him go, already feeling bad.

When Drake thought that Byron had walked a distance far enough that he wouldn't be able to overhear anything, he turned to Heatran. "What's up with you?" he hissed. "That was pretty rude."

Heatran flinched a little at the insult but said nothing. It kept its eyes on the ground.

"I mean, couldn't you at least have said something? In fact, can't you say something now?"

No response.

Drake sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry. You clearly know something I don't, so will you please tell me?" He was practically begging for Heatran's attention. "I don't think that's the way you usually look, is it? Come now."

Heatran finally gave in, gazing at its owner in a whole new way. Surprise? Confusion? No, reverence, Drake realised with giddy amazement.

"So, Drake's your name, huh?" said Heatran. "Well, Drake, I meant it very honestly when I said that I admired you for being a fine human being. It never struck me how much pain I'd gone through, and how much I'd been relieved of." Already it was shuddering with emotion. Drake automatically reached out to stroke it, only to flinch back suddenly as his hand made contact with Heatran's magma hot body. Heatran didn't even seem to notice. It just stared blankly into space, no doubt recalling those awful moments once again.

"I'm glad it's over, Heatran," Drake soothed gently. "You don't have to think about it anymore, alright, buddy?"

There was a moment of silence as Heatran slowly turned its gaze towards its owner.

"You don't understand, Drake," it responded quietly. "They keep haunting me. It's worse than a nightmare, because it's as good as reality to me. The burns, the poisoning, and above all, the endless searing pain of… _limitless_ mental torture in that knowing I'm alive every day is like knowing I'm one day closer to my death. Can you imagine how much worse it would have been if I'd stayed there for maybe another day? Another week? Another month? Another year?" Heatran drew in a sharp breath, eyes welling up with tears. "I owe it all to you, Drake. I made a decision as soon as you went towards me: the decision to protect you from as long as I'm alive, as your guardian and true friend. I'd sacrifice anything for you, because I knew you'd do the same. Just as you did then."

Drake blinked back tears. He averted his gaze, making a quick swipe at his eyes in private.

"As soon as I saw Byron, I detected an evil aura radiating strongly from him. An aura, Drake, not a body, or even a veil. Don't you see? I couldn't explain it, no, but it was there. I knew at once that he was bad and that as part of my duty, I'd take him on if it was the last thing I'd do. That was why I kept glaring at him. I couldn't think of anything else, not when you were there trying to be friendly. I had to warn him as much as possible to stay away, or I'd unleasheternal doom on him. It was for the best, for you. I'm… sorry."

"Oh, Heatran," Drake whispered, "I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you're doing, or how fortunate I feel being your owner. Sorry, too, about what I said earlier. I'll tell Byron off if he's bothering you that much, alright? I trust your judgment."

Heatran shook his head sadly. "No, it's not his manner. It's just him. Maybe he's harbouring some evil intentions. That is certainly possible, and while he may not be plotting anything particular against you, it's safest to stay away. Please."

And so, persuaded by Heatran and unable to think of any counters, Drake reluctantly nodded, promising to be cautious around Byron. "He did seem to be interested in you, though," he joked, lightening the mood a little bit.

Heatran chuckled slightly. "And you aren't?"

"Of course not!" Drake's cheeks burned. "You monster."

They walked back home happily under the divine night light of the shining stars, as if the night itself had gathered to witness their deepened friendship and offer its blessings for the ever-changing future...


	7. Adhesives

Heatran watched its owner dive into bed headfirst, and fall asleep within seconds.

 _Cold and vulnerable_ , Heatran thought. _Never a good combination._ With that, it positioned its warmth at a spot at which it thought Drake would feel just enough heat for the best possible sleeping experience. It was careful, too, not to be _too_ far away. If something should strike through the window, it'd be ready. It'd have to take care, though, not to blast Drake. Not too hard, anyway. It was impossible for him to completely avoid the slightest increase in temperature.

 _Or is it?_ challenged Heatran. _Well, whatever the case, I'll try my best to reduce any discomfort he might feel. Waking from a world of paradise is always a terrible feeling._ With mild amusement, and for the first time in its life less concerned about wasting time, it pondered over how it should do that. It would have the whole night to itself, after all.

* * *

Drake woke up to find his eyes unusually dry… and crusty. _Oh right, the tears_ , he realised with a yawn. _I slammed into bed last night without cleaning up and Heatran… where did it go?_

He rolled over and saw Heatran standing close, watching over him warily. At once, guilt pelted him like hailstones left in the freezing. "Oh my Arceus, have you been standing there all night?" gasped Drake, fully awake now. "I'm so sorry. You can go ahead and sleep all you want."

Heatran shook its head. "It's fine," it grunted. "I sleep standing up, anyway."

"' _Anyway'_?" ''Drake frowned. "You clearly didn't sleep at all. Please do. I'll be fine."

Heatran said nothing, only standing there resolutely and staring at its owner with an expressionless face.

Drake grew impatient. "If you don't sleep, I'll have no choice but to return you. Then you'll _have to_ rest." He started looking around for the Pokéball but found that it wasn't in its usual place.

"Is that so?" Heatran chuckled a deep, throaty laugh. "I guess you're boss, then."

Drake fumbled around for a little bit more, then turned to stare at Heatran in shock. "You… you hid it when I was sleeping?" Even before he got a response, he knew the truth.

Heatran, sensing the same thing, nodded anyway. "I'm sorry. I made a promise, and I won't break it."

Drake tried to decide if he should be touched or just plain annoyed. In the end he gave up and went to the bathroom, muttering sarcastically as he did so, " _Pokémon_."

Heatran heard that, of course. Fortunately for it, its revenge came immediately after, for Drake, in his confusion, had walked right into a wall instead. " _Humans_ ," Heatran retorted heartily, unable to hold in his laughter. Drake couldn't resist smiling though he made sure that he did so as he brushed his teeth. There was no way Heatran was getting the last laugh out of _that_ one.

But suddenly Heatran's amused eye appeared in the mirror in front of him, looking as though it had been there all along. Stumbling backwards in surprise and making a small mess on the bathroom floor, Drake cursed. Then, seeing Heatran's smug look, he smiled. And of course, unable to help himself, he laughed.

* * *

"So, where do you want to go?" asked Drake when they were outside. "We have the day to ourselves, since Amber has a family event today. Or something like that."

"I'm touched that you're thinking of bringing me along with you," mused Heatran, "but I really don't mind staying here, if you don't want to attract attention."

"Nonsense, the whole world can stare if they want to, and I wouldn't care one bit," Drake paused, gazing at Heatran with a mischievous look. "But of course…"

"Of course what?"

"If you want to return the Pokéball to me..."

"No," snapped Heatran with a wink. "I suggest you get that idea out of your head, Drake. Nothing's going to make me change my mind."

Drake was just pretending to be offended, when the idea came to him. "Hey, we can go to that Pokémon theme park! You know, the one with slides, rides and more…"

Before Drake had even completed his speech, Heatran was groaning. "…on second thought, I'll return the Pokéball to you if we don't go there."

Drake winked and said nothing.

* * *

"Woohoo!" screamed Drake as they splashed about in the underwater roller coaster designed for two. "You gotta admit, this is pretty fuuuunnnn!"

"Yes, I do," Heatran replied. Its tone was unusually high, a clear sign of excitement. "Just as you admit that you're only doing this for me." It paused. "Wait, what I meant was…"

"Yes, of course!" laughed Drake, pleased with how the background noise from everyone else drowned out Heatran's protest.

The ride soon concluded. "That was fun!" yelled Drake. He was about to ask for seconds when he noticed that Heatran looked more than a little shaken. "Let's… not do that again," he said in a tone that had gone back to normal but suggested subtle fear of the coaster. Drake almost laughed, before he caught himself. Instead he just nodded and went off in search of more things to do.

And so the day zoomed by with the two friends having the time of their lives. They took part in old-fashioned carnival games, stuffed themselves sick with delicious snacks, and attended live performances featuring real Pokémon while, of course, making a few new friends here and there. Heatran even persuaded its owner to get its face painted, such that Drake came out looking like a clown. This of course incited fits of laughter from Heatran. "I don't know what you're thinking, and I don't care," snapped Drake, his cheeks burning. Heatran wasn't going to let him off easily after the roller coaster, and grinned as he settled on his words. "Oh, you don't? I thought you can read minds, _Mr. Mime."_

But all too soon, it had grown dark. It came down to the last attraction of the day, which was a Ferris wheel dedicated specially to Mew. Heatran spent a good ten minutes trying to explain why. "Yes, it's pretty strange. _Mew_ is pretty strange. And yet… we hang out." Upon hearing this, Drake suddenly went silent, his mind involuntarily asking the question: _And do you feel the same way about me?_ He felt guilty almost immediately – Heatran had promised so much and was keeping to its word, and he was complaining? Unbelievable. He could only hope that the stretching moment would pass and that Heatran hadn't notice. A hope, of course, whose chances were slim, since Drake usually talked so much. Of course Heatran would notice. And of course it did. While Heatran couldn't help but feel a little hurt, it felt, in fact, just as guilty as Drake did for having suggested such a thing in the first place. _Of course not,_ Heatran responded confidently, smiling a warm, generous smile. _I'll protect you no matter how strange you are, and I know you'll do the same._

Unknowingly, they had turned to face each other, and their pod had reached the top. Against the backdrop of the setting sun, the meaningful, understanding smiles they exchanged looked quite complementary indeed…


	8. Gone

"Uh, it doesn't like to be in its Pokéball," asserted Drake, trying and failing to sound sure. They all looked over at Heatran, who was in turn staring at Byron with – under Drake's advice – a not- _too_ -analytical expression. _Forgivable_ , Drake mentally chided, _but still._

The students had gathered at Amber's house the next day to complete their project. It was a shame, of course, that they had not been able to film the actual commentary at Stark Mountain itself, but that was that, since going back there, they decided, was much too risky. After all, it wasn't impossible for the team of wicked adults to be waiting for them, and that'd obviously spell trouble. Either they'd never hear the end of it from their parents, or their parents would never hear the end of it from them. Unappealing either way.

But it wasn't lost on the children that they had Heatran; it'd be such an honour to have it in their video. Excitedly, they turned to Heatran with this suggestion, saying they would plan the conversation and everything at once.

But Heatran refused. "Are you kids crazy? I'm okay with talking to you, maybe. But if that is known to the public, I'd be bombarded with interviews at every time of the day. Ahem. What I mean is that I'd rather be seen as a reclusive Pokémon." Drake was the first to nod, accepting the truth perfectly. Byron was – expectedly – the last.

So it was back to square one. They put their heads together, thinking. Well, the students did. Heatran had gone back to staring. All of them, however, were blissfully unprepared for what was about to happen n–

CRASH! Something large – and close – slammed onto the ground with a terrific bang. The front door, they instinctively knew. But it was too late, for almost immediately, the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard thundering into the house as the floorboards creaked in warning and protest. Before anyone even had a chance to blink in the slightest surprise, the group had marched into the living room and split into a formation that could only be described as elaborate, with men and women alike dancing about and performing complex, likely meaningful gestures. The next moment, as efficiently as a sous chef chopping his hundredth garlic, the students' hands were seized and tied behind their backs, rendering them completely helpless. A hollow, frosty laughter filled the air.

"So _this_ is the secret place?" gasped the source of the laughter. All heads turned towards her, Drake's being no exception. He gaped as he took in her appearance. Dressed in a plain white dress with a single imprint of a marigold as what might be considered a design, her outfit was average, to say the least, with nothing spectacular at all. But it was her that took Drake and his friends by much surprise. Her hair, flowing down her shoulders in a polished waterfall, reflected all the brilliant colours of the sun and more, complemented only by a gold-plated flower-shaped hair pin and two earrings of precious pearl origins. Then, as if blessed by the milk of youth, her pottery-perfect, doll-dusted face was gorgeous. What was surprisingly, though, was how her eyes were closed. While that added to her already beautiful magnificence, it seemed more than a little off. Perhaps she was blind, and didn't want others to know. Whatever the case, it seemed that nothing would ruin this woman's utter perfection.

That is, until she came forward and took Drake by the chin. Not too roughly, but none too gently either.

"What is it, young man?" she snapped, her voice crystal clear. "Why are you staring at me that way?" (Her eyes were still shut, by the way, though a downwards curve of her eyebrows suggested her impatience.)

"…no, it's just…" stuttered Drake hesitantly, debating if he should tell the truth. He could think of no reason why not. "You're beautiful."

Everyone in the room, excluding his friends, laughed. Drake ducked his head shyly, already regretting it.

The woman didn't seem to mind, however. "You think so, sweetheart?" she whispered, sounding flattered. "That's nice."

Far from intimidated, Drake was surprised, and felt a surge of hope. This woman sounded kind, and looked that way, too. The only thing, in fact, that suggested her contact with evil, if any at all, was her sinister company of four other adults, which, as Drake quickly noticed, was exactly as his friends had described, with their awful Cubone masks (which they held in their hands rather than wore, presumably to prevent unnecessary attention) and metal suits (which were concealed with leather jackets). He almost trusted her. Almost.

Then Heatran leaped.

Drake hadn't even seen where Heatran had gone, but it appeared as though it had _clung_ onto the ceiling with its claws, completely avoiding attention since Amber's living room was tall enough to have a chandelier. When it descended onto the team with a grating roar, everyone was caught by violent surprise and had absolutely no time to react to Heatran's fierce fire attacks. Though it seemed to know what it was doing, Drake was almost afraid that the house would burst into flames, what with all those mini infernos and magma storms breaking out everywhere as the volcano god unleashed its fearsome energy. In fact, sensing the temperature rise closer and closer to a point where he feared his body might vaporise, Drake was about to duck for cover and ask his friends to do the same. If he could, that is. His mouth was so dry it was a desert. Thankfully, within moments, all members of the team but the woman remained standing, and Heatran called back all its power, a magician enclosing his cloth within an open palm.

Face to face, Heatran stared at the woman, anger burning furiously in its eyes. The woman, however, didn't move an eyelid. Her smile had not even left her face; in fact, it had grown noticeably larger, even as the knowledge sunk upon everyone in the room that she was about to battle a vicious legendary and would, without a doubt, lose. The match and her life.

But that was when it happened.

Just as it seemed as though Heatran was about to strike for the last time, its eyes widened. Without warning, and almost instantaneously after, Heatran legs crumbled and it crashed to the ground, unmoving from its clearly uncomfortable position with nothing but an expression of pure agony written all over it as its tear-filled eyes said one thing and one thing only. _Run, Drake,_ they begged in desperation. _Run and leave me behind. I've done what I can, and my only hope is for you to survive and avenge me. Run and don't turn back._

And in its place, standing like a gloried champion, was none other than Byron, a smug and sadistic smile already beginning to form on his cruel, cruel face.

As they swept from Heatran to Byron, Drake's eyes communicated pity, empathy, sadness and love of the sincerest degree… to anger. More anger than he'd ever felt in his life. More than when he'd been accused unfairly of cheating in class. More than when he'd been splashed with water bombs just before an important oral examination. More than when, in an act of mischief by his sibling, he'd discovered his book report missing from his desktop. At that time, he'd spent a good half an hour raging at Dante, alternating between helpless loss and anger as it sank into him that he had to rewrite, word by word and page by page, his whole report again. But even that could not compare to this. Not in the least.

He spent one long moment glaring at the traitor. One moment only. Then he rushed over to Heatran's side, noting, amidst the clouded vision and drowning sensations that quickly overtook him, the familiarity of its wounds. The very back of his mind told him that he had seen them somewhere before. But he couldn't think straight, no, not when the majority of his mind was concentrating purely on saving… "The best friend I'd ever had," he choked. "And will ever have. Don't go, Heatran. Please!"

Heatran, whose strength had been utterly exhausted and who was almost about to black out, used the last of its will to direct Drake's attention to Byron. Then its eyes closed.

Cold and alone, Drake sniffed silently. He reached out a hand to lay on the fallen body of Heatran, and barely noticed how icy it felt. When he did, the thought lasted only a moment, before being replaced at once by horrid, overwhelming feelings of guilt and hatred. _What kind of friend am I, to be so unwilling and fearful to even reach out a hand when it needs it most?_ Drake bashed himself violently in his mind. _I only wish it were alive for just one more second, enough for me to burn my hand and find, amidst the all-consuming heat and flames, palms of loving warmth, fulfilled promises and a permanent mark of friendship... Now it's too late. Its body is cold, like death. Cold like my selfish, stupid heart. Cold like… Byron._ And Drake understood. Drake saw it all, a mental puzzle sorting out its pieces by itself: Heatran's neverending suffering, Byron's pitiful lies, and above all, his own blindness to the cold, cold truth. Byron was behind this. He always was. From the very beginning, and before. He had planned for all this to happen, and it had gone his way.

As soon as he accepted this, a great many mysteries cleared up. Top of the list was Byron's puzzling willingness to see Heatran – he must have wanted to access its wounds and evaluate how much damage needed to be done in order to fully knock it out, since it was clear that the last time they'd used the ordinary shocker, it had not worked the way it wanted it to, with Heatran managing to make a speedy recovery. When Drake thought about this a little further, in fact, he realised there was much more to the plot. Why Byron had pretended to be interested in Drake's story about Stark Mountain, sensing a golden opportunity to help his team there. Which he did, pretending to lag behind in order to maintain contact with them as Amber and Drake went on. Why he told that story – to convince Amber and Drake that he was one of them, so as to gain their trust and turn against them as a new villain, a twist to the story. Why he purposely avoided the subject of how the team wore Cubone's heads, trying and failing to convince Amber that they were simply the bones of dinosaurs. Why he kept silent at the conversation that night, as they were returning home – he had wanted to know more, without acting too eager. And… and… the list went on and on and on. Like the increasing, limitless will for revenge that was growing in Drake's chest. Which, large as it was, almost dominated his mind. Almost. For a tiny portion, the practical part within him about the size of a tadpole at that moment, held out in the battle for attention and won, instructing him to please sit still and stay calm. Still, it took him all his willpower not to launch himself headfirst into Byron and the woman and fight to the death as they left calmly out of the house, seemingly oblivious to the red-faced, tear-stained boy. Not Byron, though, who turned around and smiled tauntingly at Drake once more. Drake smiled back, surprising everyone and himself most of all.

 _Just you wait_ , he thought maliciously, his fists clenching and unclenching. _Just you wait._


	9. Hope

As soon as the evil gang left the house, Drake burst into tears. He couldn't control himself, not when he thought of the bitter, bitter discoveries he'd made and the cruel injustice of it all. His emotions flowed freely: tears of sadness, tears of anger and tears of anguish mixed to produce a slobbering creature he had seen and heard many times but had never imagined to be in command of. It took all his self-control just to breathe.

A tentative voice had spoken softly, but Drake barely paid attention to it, much less understood its message. All he cared about was… nothing. He wanted to wake to his favourite tunes and the aroma of hot chocolate. No, he much preferred to sink into the Earth and never return. Suddenly and recklessly convinced that this was possible, his grief-stricken self pressed his cheek onto the ground and tried to push himself downwards. Nothing gave way.

"Drake, please." The speaker had raised her voice just a little though it still retained its calm, caring quality. "I need some help here." (At least, that's what it sounded like.)

Wanting absolutely nothing to do with the world anymore, there was little reason why Drake should have turned his head at that moment. And yet… he did. Perhaps it just happened by chance as he was stretching his neck. Perhaps rhyme and reason decided to take a break from their busy schedules and confine everyone to an illogical dystopia. Perhaps under those precise conditions of space and time, Amber's voice had hypnotised him to do its bidding.

Or perhaps, at that moment, Drake felt a glimmer of hope sparkle within him, a single jewel floating up towards the surface of the water in the boundless black ocean of despair.

"Heatran!" All self-centred thoughts instantly banished from his mind, Drake rushed over to his fallen friend. When his arms were carelessly thrown around the large Pokémon and the sticky healing balm covering it, his only regrets were that they weren't longer, and that he hadn't come earlier. He felt heartily, lovingly warm – outside and inside and all around.

There followed a short period of silence, broken by Heatran's soft groan.

"I'm… okay…" wheezed Heatran with much effort. "If you'll… just… let… me…"

But Drake wouldn't let go. Not after what had happened. Not after a million years. "You f-fool," he whispered, both his body and tone trembling violently. "Now you know h-how it f-feels to care t-too much for someone who d-doesn't deserve it." Before Heatran could say anything, however, Drake continued. "But no matter. Just r-rest now. Amber and I will m-make sure you're fine." Admittedly, how exactly he was going to go about doing this was unclear to him, but at that point, all he cared about was playing the role of a confident, direction-oriented person who always knew what to do; all he cared about was soothing Heatran's worries as tenderly as one presses a piece of cold cloth onto a feverish forehead. He might as well have been making an empty promise, however; so disoriented was he that even a hiker on the brink of despair was in a better position, and so exhausted was he that even a simple math problem would be like running the mile in a minute.

He could have used some reassurance himself – a large dose of it. With second, third and fourth helpings afterwards.

* * *

Drake groaned as an awful headache set in as soon as he became conscious enough to feel pain. Come to think of it, every muscle in his body ached. Apparently he'd fallen asleep, somehow, and was now lying in an awkward position on some couch. The confusion in his head was only amplified by a loud discussion nearby, though a single concern pushed itself to the front of his mind. _Oh no! Where's Heatran?_ He started, sitting bolt upright and looking about him in a panicked frenzy.

He felt the sources of the talking turn their attention towards him. Among them was Amber, rushing to him in a frantic blur. "Drake!" she exclaimed, her voice strangely dripping with regret. "I'm so sorry. I had to get my Bellossom to make you sleep, since I was afraid you would… harm yourself. I'm very sorry. Please understand." Amber explained in a rush, her honest eyes saying it all. "And before you ask, Heatran is fine. My parents brought Heatran to the Pokémon Centre – where we are now – as soon as they returned. Its burns are quite serious, but at the same time it's making a speedy recovery."

Drake sat up, rubbing his eyes as the last winks of sleep vanished in his eyes. He paused once more as he considered Amber's words, and finally spoke. "I would be angry with you for making me worried," his voice quiet and dangerous like a blade, before it softened considerably as it sunk into him just how much Amber had gone through. "But thanks for taking care of Heatran."

"Oh, it's nothing," Amber waved it off as if she had more important things to talk about. Which, as it turned out, she did. "We have to discuss some urgent matters. Namely, how to deal with the project now that Byron is gone. Don't get me wrong now. I know the issue of Team Trouble – as Heatran told me just a while ago – is much greater. But like my mother always said, deal with the one that comes first. And the project is due tomorrow." She turned towards two adults coming her way. Her parents, Drake realised. They exchanged polite greetings before the conversation became serious once again.

"The police have been informed, though the case has been kept secret," reported Amber's mother gravely. "We requested that of them because I think we can all agree that Heatran, in his current state, should receive only rest and not publicity at every second of the day." Drake nodded in relief, having had the same sentiments all along. Seeing this, Amber's father continued. "However, the downside of this is that your teacher will not be able to receive an excuse note, simply because there isn't any reason why you shouldn't have done the project, unless we were fabricating one, which is possible but difficult. The fact that Byron is out of school – I'm sure he has fled out of the city in the hands of Team Trouble already – is hardly something to pin the blame on."

Drake thought hard. It was a dilemma for sure, but he could feel an idea forming in the back of his head.

"We'll definitely help you, of course," continued Amber's father, breaking the silence. "We can put together a great video. Or if you're still thinking about scrapping the project completely, I'll think of something to write in that excuse note. After all, you guys are hardly to blame for what happened."

It was a long shot. But then again, it had been a long shot when he'd approached Heatran all those days back; he'd had a slim chance of surviving and yet he'd gotten out of it alive. It had been a long shot when he'd accepted Heatran as the only Pokémon to accompany him in more than a year; he'd faced his fears of doing a bad job and a fiery friendship had blossomed between them. And now here stood another challenge. He was Drake, wasn't he? He was Heatran's owner, wasn't he? He could do this. It was just another risk – just another game of chance in the Russian Roulette of life. But with an element of surprise, the odds would be in his favour even if his life was in danger. He nodded. He could do this. He _would do this._ First, though, he had to clarify something.

"The Magma Stone… it allows anyone possessing it to control Heatran, doesn't it? Unless Heatran has already gained ownership?" Amber's parents nodded.

Drake looked at them, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Then I have a plan."


	10. Hero

Drake couldn't sleep. He was too busy tossing and turning as he reviewed his plan over and over, each time in greater depth than before, knowing full well that the consequences of overlooking the smallest detail would only mean an early grave. _It wouldn't be that bad_ , he would try to reassure himself, before the truth would hurl itself in his face and snap his mind back to attention. _It would be worse._ These thoughts, not altogether comforting, would duel with his exponentially increasing exhaustion in the challenging quest to fade away into the night.

It was then that he noticed how the surroundings around him changed.

Drake couldn't possibly have known that he had finally fallen asleep; neither could he have known that he was dreaming. What he did know, however, was that terror was knocking on his door. Heart palpitating wildly, he felt as though he were being chased by the Grim Reaper himself. His breaths were short with his chest pumping up and down like a balloon connected to a malfunctional air pump. He was afraid. _Of what?_ He didn't know. He didn't want to know.

"You'll be safe, you know." A deep human voice had sounded nearby, making him jump even if his body did not move. "They'll never find you here."

"I know," came the muffled reply. It took a moment for him to realise that the voice was his – the words had formed on his lips and exited his mouth even before his conscious mind could realise that he was speaking. Something told him, though, that what he'd just said was not what he'd meant, for the fear was creeping in and growing larger by the second.

"Relax then and stop bothering me."

He – that is, Drake in this boy's body – felt a sharp twitch of irritation at this man's clearly nonchalant tone. He knew, however, that there were more urgent matters to sort out than spouting meaningless insults – namely, getting information. _What's going on? Who am you? Who am I?_ He was about to try asking this when he realised that his lips were glued shut; apparently, the boy he was in control of had come to the same conclusion about the man's carelessness, deciding that nothing was worth saying. And try as Drake might, he couldn't speak. It was a strange, uncomfortable sensation completely new to him. He didn't like it.

The man had already turned away and was now walking out through the door, shaking his head all the while. Drake felt the boy's sudden urge to rush to him and further their conversation, but by the time he'd gotten up from his seat, it was too late. He was alone in the room. _They_ were alone in the room.

As soon as the door banged shut, however, his vision became muddled. Was something happening to him? _No,_ realised Drake in shock. _The boy is crying. Oh dear_. He felt the boy's fear of being alone; he felt the boy's regret that he hadn't done anything when there was still the chance to. Above all, he felt bad about not being able to help. It was as if he were watching a train crash from a million miles away – helpless to do anything but to spectate the horrid view.

Guilt flooded through him like a tsunami even when he woke up. It hadn't been a particularly good night's sleep, for sure. Yet it was not as if he'd gained nothing, for Drake remembered the experience completely. _Don't let it get to you,_ he told himself before his mind could wander off into prophecies and superstitions. _It was just a dream. Focus on the plan, and..._

* * *

 _…nothing else._ Up, down. Up, down. _You can do this._ Up, down. Repeat.

He had explained that there was no other way but to return to Stark Mountain. It might have been a great opportunity for Team Trouble to lay a trap, but Heatran knew the place like the back of its claws and could easily access any hidden areas of the volcano if the need arose. Besides, it was the only place where good and evil could clash in the deciding battle of fate, because both sides had their motives for meeting there. Team Trouble wanted Heatran behind them as they took over the world. And Drake wanted Team Trouble behind bars.

Drake felt a shudder run through him that had nothing to do with feeling cold.

It was him, in fact, who had insisted on being alone. Sure, he could have gone with the safe choice and requested some fifty guards from the police force. Or he could have called Heatran out from the Pokéball he held in his trembling hand. But he knew that wouldn't work. Team Trouble might have been crazy, but they weren't stupid. Only when they were sure that Drake had not brought in reinforcements, and only then, would they emerge from the shadows like a predator trying to play safe. _It's the only way,_ reassured Drake, meeting Amber's anxious eyes with a cool gaze. _Trust me on this. I'm know what I'm doing._

Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. Perhaps even hours.

He'd entered the battleground with this firm belief, taking large, courageous fights across the ground as if he were a gladiator warrior. And he would have been righteous in his stand and even righter in his opinions, at least then. For like a puddle left out in the sun, his confidence had ebbed away slowly, until his assumptions were nothing but assertions, and assertions nothing but ideas, and ideas nothing but daydreams conceived by a child at a winter's fire. It was almost hard to believe how sure he'd been – he'd gone straight from a duelling knight to a fearful peasant, with every bit of his mind feeling Dark and unenlightened.

But then he saw the rocks where Heatran had first appeared.

They had looked grand then, making his jaw drop in amazement; now they still did, and the effect was to bring large tears to his eyes. Drake was crying – crying over Heatran, crying over Byron and above all, crying over himself and how he'd lost two friends to the clutches of evil. So much faith had been invested in him, and he'd let it slip away like liquid through his fingers into the eternal drain of time, lost and forgotten forever. Yet, at the same time, an equally strong impression was wriggling to the front of his mind – the knowledge that he could still make amends. It was not too late, because he and he alone could change the future. He'd known that, in fact, ever since he'd paired up with Amber and Byron, ever since he'd sacrificed himself to save someone else, and ever since Heatran had looked him in the eye – and now, he was finally drawing the knowledge out of himself and using it to aid him when he needed it most. Accepting this simple truth, not to mention letting his emotions out, healed him considerably. Heatran's gruff yet kind tone began to echo all around the cavern, drowning out all the negative thoughts and filling his head with the encouragement he'd so desperately needed all this while, only amplified by the comprehension of his power when he understood, for the first time in his life, the full extent of what he was doing; while he had been paralysed by its danger before, he now saw it as a stepping stone and allowed it to pull him forward. It had such a profound impact that as soon as this realisation struck him, a chain reaction of domino-truths followed like the trailing tail of a snake, predominant among them that it was his turn to try his very best, and pass the test of courage in a brilliant ace. He could do it; he knew that with certainty, for his confidence had returned like a long lost friend, filling him to the brim with pride and power and allowing him to know right there and then, with all his heart, that he would succeed. Because it was his turn to shine, and he would not doubt himself any longer. He would not doubt himself for the rest of his life.

"So, you've come to meet us in person," rolled the chocolatey-smooth voice of the woman he'd already sensed a few moments before she spoke. "How nice."

Without turning around, he could already see the weapons they would soon use to attack and torture him with; he could already smell the blood that would soon gush out from his body. They were approaching from every exit like a herd of tigers cornering a deer, huffing hot, hungry breaths down his neck.

But the element of surprise was still with him, because they'd have no idea how powerful he would have become after having overcome the greatest challenge of all. Nothing scared him anymore, least of all the things that should have. With unnerving calmness that surprised even himself, he turned around and smiled a cold, challenging smile. As far as both parties were concerned, the battle had begun.

"I have indeed," agreed Drake in a falsely bright tone. "I'm here to propose to you a deal."

She narrowed her eyes, her previously iridescent beauty already fading away like sunset. "Don't think I'll fall for the tricks you have."

Drake wasn't bothered, however. His eyes were like magnets, strong and calculative, attracted to the woman's thoughts like flies to fruit. "I'll release Heatran," he stated confidently, feeling the woman's eyes sparkle, as he knew they would. "I promise not to attempt any form of capture until it is under your control. You will be free to do whatever you want to do with it, then. Feed it, abuse it, use it in your crimes. The choice will be yours; after all, you do own that Magma Stone."

Though clearly mesmerised by such a prospect, the woman was clever – and cunning – enough to keep her mind focused on the issue at hand. "And in return?"

"And in return, you promise to return everything you've stolen so far. Jewellery, gadgets, codes, files – anything you've taken should be put back to its proper place, with apologies in order." Drake folded his arms across his chest, satisfied. He knew he'd won. He'd known it the moment the woman consented to such a conversation when he'd been fearing otherwise. Even when the woman paused to consider, he knew it was just for show. She would agree. She did.

Then came the next phase – something challenging in a slightly different sense. Fumbling around for the only round object in his pocket, he removed it quickly before emotions got the better of him. He called out his only true companion and friend, though his voice remained stiff and mechanical in just those two syllables. His robotic tone was at work, once again, even before the shape of Heatran had fully formed. "I'm sorry," Tears came to his eyes, though he knew that he was lying. "But this is for the greater good." He paused to swipe at his eyes efficiently, as if a part of him still human was trapped in a robotic casing that dictated his thoughts and actions. "I'll see you in the far future, my friend." Slowly, albeit purposefully, he reached for the button that would release Heatran from his control forever.

"Drake, wait!" Heatran's voice was frantic, a spider in honey, as it quickly grasped what was going on. "Did they hypnotise you? Did they–"

"Heatran, use MAGMA STORM!" Drake practically screamed at the top of his lungs, all his pretence vanishing as he covered his eyes and ears and dropped to the ground in, for the first time, morbid fear that his plan would fail. But before sheer panic could overwhelm him in the next moment, a wave of heat like never before – followed almost instantaneously by a second wave of unparalleled, stupendous relief – crashed into him like a meteor hurtling from space. He didn't want to be sadistic, but the screams from Team Trouble, whether in fear or in pain, was like music to his ears, reassuring him that everything was in order, and that Team Trouble would soon be history.

The moisturising lotions and burn-proof medicine covering his entire body quickly dissipated, leaving his skin dried and sweaty in alternating moments. A new fear, one that he would be burned alive as well, was starting to creep into him. But Heatran knew what it was doing, targeting its signature attack specifically at its opponents and only damaging Drake very slightly in the process – nothing the ailments couldn't handle, though this was not something it knew at the time. It had felt absolutely no pity for the heartless individuals who'd attacked him so brutally before, and thought that they deserved every bit of pain they'd caused, but seeing Drake without protection from itself and assuming that he was taking a lot of damage was like a knife twisted around in its heart; so concerned was it for the boy that just looking at Drake's helpless position made it feel the need to stop immediately. Still, Heatran couldn't risk it. It could trust Drake to know what he was doing; it had to. Even if he was closer to its body and… _oh no… still a kid… What have I done?_

"Drake!" Calling back every wisp of its flames, Heatran rushed over to its owner, who was still cowering on the ground in a position that looked like he had indeed suffered badly. "Drake, please. You can't die! You just can't!" When Drake didn't move, the rolling tears in Heatran's eyes began to fall onto Drake's own cheek as it wept uncontrollably, knowing its sole source of love, friendship and warmth had gone, perhaps forever. _No… this can't be!_ Not quite accepting the truth, yet knowing it would haunt it down anyway, Heatran sighed a very long, sad sigh, accompanied only by the cold truth of silence that reminded him, again and again, that it had failed in its job as a protector. _See you in the far future, Drake,_ Heatran promised in a bleak show of hope as disappointment, regret and sadness filled him with despair, muddling its head with suicidal thoughts. _Hope you'll remember me then._ It lay down and lay its muzzle very gently on Drake's body, as if in deep, meaningful respect. _A last tribute to you before I go._

Drake twitched, though his eyes were still closed.

Heatran, shocked, got up and looked at him in detail with large, curious eyes, not quite believing what it was seeing. The silence lasted a full ten seconds.

An inch of an inch of an inch of daylight entered Drake's eyes, and he smiled very weakly, utterly drained of energy. "Why can't I die?" He asked in a dry, raspy voice, sounding rather like a desert, if one could talk. "I'm but a human."

"Drake!" Heatran tackled its owner in a bear hug, not caring how injured Drake was. It would not have swapped its position for anything then, not for greater power, not for immunity from paralysis, not even for the Magma Stone. Nothing, absolutely nothing could compare to expressing gratitude to the human who'd saved his life twice now, and who had done so much again and again. "You're alive," its voice trembled, sounding as if it would cry once more. "You're alive."

Drake tried to raise a thumbs up, but he was much too weak. Instead he let his body conserve its energy, and though he tried to pay attention to Heatran's detailed gestures as to how they should get help, his eyelids were already starting to pull themselves downwards in an uncontrollable sign of serious exhaustion. Try as he might, then, he couldn't resist the pull of sleep that quickly descended upon him, pulling him into a dream like a baby sinking into a tub of pure, snow-white milk of the deepest mystery.


	11. Epilogue: Rescue

The boy was running.

Everything was holding him back: the harsh environments, his tiresome body, and even his pessimistic mind. Like a child clinging on to his mother, however, his soul would not be deterred, pulling its master against the endless mounts of setbacks, the rush of downstream traffic, and all other odds in a crazed yet consistently focused goal towards the ever-golden future. Urging him forward, too, was the hard truth that his past – vague memories of clawed evils, fallen leaves and broken hearts – was right behind and would, like a crocodile seizing a moose, seize any and every opportunity to catch up, though none would come. The boy would make sure of that. So would Drake, a boisterous spectator in the match that he somehow gathered would decide the fate of the boy's life. _You can do this_ , he would yell, meaning every word. _Just a little bit more._ Whether or not the boy could hear him in the first place could, of course, make a lot of difference, but Drake wouldn't let that bother him as he cheered his heart out, egging the boy on in the final push of destiny.

* * *

Heatran cast a worried glance at its owner, who had not woken up even after the bumpy right to the hospital. The only sign, in fact, that Drake was alive, was the fact that he was whimpering softly, a sign of unspeakable terror in his sleep. And seeing him in pain, even if reassured that he was not dead, was torture of almost unbearable standards. It could only sit and watch, its anxiety growing larger every second as it prayed for time to be merciful, and watched almost pedantically for any sign of movement on its owner's face. The lady accompanying the pair in the ambulance, observing this, gave Heatran a sweet, understanding smile, which it acknowledged politely with a subtle nod, and nothing else.

* * *

The boy could see his destination, but it looked ridiculously, impossibly far away – an unmoving, taunting figure in the distance. His body was so weary that he felt as though he were on a hamster wheel, forced to run on a neverending track that merely allowed him to remain in the same position. More than ever, however, he felt like throwing himself to the ground and begging for an easy death. He almost did, in fact – like unplugging a radio, his body had somehow tuned out the thoughts from his stubborn soul, and was overcrowding his brain with negative mindsets that filled him to the brim with hate and anguish. But Drake wouldn't let him go – not after what he'd seen, felt and heard in the perspective of the boy; not after he knew just how much the future meant, only amplified tenfold when contrasted to the all-consuming darkness of the past. _There's no chapter in my story,_ he thought as he gritted his teeth, _where someone drowns in the river of no return._ And so he grabbed every chance to get the boy's attention, shoving aside his competitors roughly. _Come on!_ Drake shouted, screaming his way to the top of the boy's mind. _Don't give up now! Think about what you've been working for, and concentrate on that alone._ The boy responded, clinging on to Drake's message like a wilting plant exposed to sunlight, though Drake hardly noticed this miracle; so focused was he on encouraging the boy when he needed it most that he would not give the subtlest thought on anything else. _You can do this. I know you can._ There was silence, but Drake had the strong impression that his words had taken root in the boy's mind. He'd just needed to water them a little more…

Abruptly, Drake felt himself fading away. It was an unnerving experience not unlike falling asleep, the only difference being that he could not see his body, though he knew he was in a comfortable position. Perhaps too comfortable; if the moment hadn't been so urgent, Drake would hardly have minded the pleasant sensation of the pervasive mist covering his thoughts, soothing every corner with a soft touch. But helping this boy realise his dream was a now-or-never situation, not something he could return to after he woke up. Realising this fact in time, Drake hurriedly mustered the last of his rapidly decreasing strength to pull himself into a sitting position, rub his eyes and stretch – anything he could do to stay awake. This seemed to work at first, successfully pumping energy to every limb on his body and retaining their activeness. But the waves only crashed harder, and no matter how hard he fought the urge to blank out, he could not stop his head from lolling to the side, or resist even the familiar pull of his eyelids, until, before he knew it, all life within his mental state had gone. He was unconscious, on the path between two worlds.

"No!" Drake yelled frantically as soon as he had been pulled back into reality, surprising Heatran and the nurses who had come to attend to his seemingly fatal health. But no amount of wishing would get him back; there was only the bitter truth, and nothing else. Focused only on the predicament he'd failed to help the boy in the dream with, he barely paid attention to the staff's sarcastic comments or even Heatran's joyful cries as a single thought sped through his mind, darkening his mood to a level beyond recognisable. _I was too late._

Heatran noticed this at once, its smile vanishing as it enquired about Drake's situation. All Drake could hear, however, was not Heatran's anxious tone, let alone its fast-paced interrogations, but the traumatising screams of the helpless, panicking boy as it was swallowed whole by the dark matter chasing him, ridden of his life when it fell directly into the hands of evil…

Suddenly, the door to his ward was thrown open with an enormous bang, snapping all of Drake's thoughts as if they had been rubber bands stretched beyond their limits. Looking up in mild surprise and weariness, Drake almost didn't see it at first, getting back to his soggy-puddle misery as his mental fogbank once again accumulated. But then, even before he looked up for the second time for confirmation, the recognition had struck him like a bolt of lightning, with logic catching up slowly, like thunder. Slowly but surely, all the clouds in his mind brightened as the storm finally cleared in its entirety, leaving a clear, peaceful sky for the first time in many weeks.

"I'm… sorry," sniffed the boy. He met Drake's eyes with a gaze that indeed displayed sincerity. But Drake had already known he was. He'd known it, in fact, a very long time ago, but hearing that word spoken aloud bravely further elevated Drake's impression of him. At that point, of course, Drake had a few options, one of which involved pretending to be gravely hurt, only taking off his overly stiff armour and forgiving the boy later. But he knew that only creatures like Heatran could take a joke like that, while other, significantly more serious beings would take it to heart. And Drake didn't want to be mean, especially not to anyone who would have enough of a challenge apologising. So he went ahead with an equally powerful smile that communicated, without a single word, his positive attitude towards the ups and downs of their adventures together, along with a deep understanding of the difficult choices the boy had had to make, and above all, happiness right there and then; a smile, in other words, that forgave, with nothing more, and nothing less.


End file.
